Mistletoe Mishap

Chapter 25: Garland Games

I didn’t feel fragile walking into the quad.

That was new.

The air had that sharp, bright December bite that made everything feel cleaner than it actually was. Strings of lights looped the railings like they’d been draped there with careless optimism, and someone had dragged a speaker outside, filling the space with a Christmas playlist that skipped between cheerful and unhinged. The kind of music that made people brave in the worst ways.

I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and kept walking.

No flinching.

No bracing.

Just… me.

Sam fell into step beside me like he always did—easy, unannounced, like he belonged there. He handed me a paper cup without slowing.

“Hot chocolate,” he said. “Before it disappears into the hands of people who don’t deserve it.”

I smiled. A real one. “You’re very dramatic about beverages.”

“Only the important ones.”

On my other side, Jasper walked a half-step behind, not crowding, not distant either. He didn’t say anything, just nodded once when I glanced his way. The quiet acknowledgment settled something in my chest. Jasper had a way of doing that—being exactly where he needed to be without making a show of it.

I took a sip. Burned my tongue. Worth it.

We moved through the quad together, the noise swelling and dipping around us. I caught a few looks—not the sharp, curious ones from earlier in the term, but softer now. Familiar. Like people were still trying to place me, still surprised I wasn’t tripping over something or apologizing for existing.

Good.

Let them be surprised.

We stopped near the big oak tree—the one someone had decorated with red ribbons and, unfortunately, mistletoe. I noticed it immediately. Of course I did. Once you’ve been ambushed by greenery enough times, you develop a sixth sense for it.

I didn’t step back.

That might have been the biggest difference.

A group of students clustered nearby, laughing too loudly, shoving each other in that way that always meant someone was about to do something stupid. One of them—a guy I vaguely recognized from economics—leaned closer than necessary.

“Well,” he said, eyes flicking up to the mistletoe and back down to me, “this seems festive.”

My stomach tightened. Not fear. Not exactly. More like an old reflex knocking on a door I wasn’t planning to open.

Sam beat me to it—not stepping in front of me, not cutting the guy off aggressively. Just… angling his body slightly, a grin already in place.

“Careful,” Sam said lightly. “Those things are cursed. Last guy who tried that lost a bet and his dignity.”

A couple of people laughed. The tension thinned, just a little.

The guy hesitated mid-sentence, his confidence faltering as his eyes flicked past Sam—to Jasper, who had quietly sidled up close behind me. Whatever he saw there made him rethink things.

Jasper didn’t smile.

He didn’t glare either.

He just looked at him—calm and steady—like this wasn’t a joke or a challenge. It was a boundary. The kind you didn’t test unless you wanted to regret it.

The guy lifted his hands. “Hey, no harm meant.”

“I know,” I said, finally speaking. My voice didn’t shake. That surprised me most of all. “But I’m good.”

And that was that.

He drifted away, the moment dissolving into music and chatter like it had never existed.

For a second, none of us moved.

Then Sam glanced down at me. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think… yeah.”

Jasper shifted slightly, closer now, just enough that I felt his presence like a solid line at my back. “You handled it,” he said quietly.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I had help.”

Sam shrugged, like it was nothing. “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends.

The word sat there between us, comfortable and complicated all at once.

We stayed by the tree a while longer, talking about nothing important—an upcoming event, a professor who took attendance way too seriously, the fact that the speaker kept glitching mid-song. It was easy. Too easy. The kind of easy that made me forget to be on guard.

I caught Jasper watching the crowd—not scanning for trouble exactly, just aware. Always aware. When his eyes met mine, he looked away first, like he hadn’t meant to be caught.

Sam noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.

“Walk with me?” Sam asked, nodding toward the lit path that curved away from the quad.

I hesitated, just long enough to feel it.

Jasper didn’t step back. Didn’t step forward either. He just waited.

“I’ll catch up,” I said to him.

He nodded once. “I’ll be here.”

Sam and I walked, our footsteps crunching softly on gravel. The lights overhead blurred into warm halos, and for a moment, it felt like we were inside one of those snow globes people shook for comfort.

“You’ve changed,” Sam said after a minute.

I glanced at him. “Is that bad?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just… noticeable. In a good way.”

I smiled, smaller this time. “I think I’m just tired of shrinking.”

He looked at me then, really looked. “You don’t have to. Not around me.”

“I know,” I said. And I did. That was the dangerous part.

We turned back before the silence could stretch too far, before the warmth could tip into something heavier. Jasper was where we left him, hands in his pockets, gaze lifting when he saw me.

Something in his expression softened.

We walked together again, the three of us, the bells from the speaker chiming out a slightly off-key carol. Above us, the mistletoe swayed gently in the cold breeze, harmless for now.

I didn’t feel like it was hunting me anymore.

If anything, it felt like it was watching—waiting to see what I’d do next.